Traci On The Spot

by Marie Ferrarella

  “I was a lot skinnier the last time you saw me. I’ve put on a few pounds.”

  And magnificently well, too, she thought. But if he expected her to admit that, he was going to be sadly disappointed.

  “I noticed,” she murmured. She suddenly jerked to attention as Jeremiah yanked hard on the leash. It felt as if her left hand had lengthened by a good inch. “Jeremiah, stop that.”

  To reinforce the command, Traci gave the leash a good, solid tug. The dog responded by yanking even harder on his end.

  Unprepared, Traci gasped, stumbled and then fell unceremoniously into Morgan’s arms. The unexpected weight made him fall backward. Breaking her fall, he landed with a hard thud against some very hard upstate New York earth. The pain was temporarily muted by the fact that Traci, and every single curve she possessed, was on top of him.

  Traci was more than vaguely aware that the contours melding with hers were infinitely pleasing. More than that, she felt a warm rush spreading fast and furious through every pulsing inch of her body, like a backdraft bent on eating its way through a building in record time.

  The overwhelming sensation made her suck in her breath in surprise. If she hadn’t known better, she would have said she was on fire.

  And maybe, just maybe—in a very unnerving way—she was.

  The slow, lazy smile that drifted across Morgan’s lips, filtering down from his green eyes and settling in the dimple at the corner of his mouth told her that he was not unaware of what was happening here.

  On the contrary, he seemed very, very aware that their bodies were fitting together like two missing pieces of a puzzle.

  There was a catch in her throat she didn’t like. A catch that wasn’t there when she was in the same sort of position with Daniel. Of course, she’d never had the wind knocked out of her by Daniel, she argued with herself.

  Maybe that was just the trouble.

  She’d gotten softer than he remembered, Morgan thought, and yet she was firm. Ripe for the touch. He found himself wanting to gather some very vital, hands-on experience.

  To placate himself, Morgan raised his hand to her hair and lightly combed his fingers through it. “I see you have your dog well trained.”

  Nope, she definitely didn’t care for this feeling zipping through her. Traci scrambled up, purposely driving an elbow into his chest as she gained her feet.

  “You frightened him,” she accused, grabbing at the first defense she could think of. Lame at best, she admitted silently. But then, she wasn’t feeling very witty at the moment. Just disoriented.

  It took Morgan a moment to catch his breath. Her elbow, sharply applied to his solar plexus, had temporarily siphoned off his air. No doubt about it, he thought. Traci was still quick with her hands and her tongue. In an odd sort of way, that left him with a rather pleasant sensation.

  The cards they exchanged at Christmas were basically the typical kind, saying very little, just keeping old lines open much the way occasionally flipping through a dusty family album kept old memories alive. But it didn’t fill in any of the missing gaps that were occurring as time passed.

  Morgan had learned more about her life from her strip than he had from the cards she’d sent him over the years. It gave him a window into her world that she didn’t have into his, he thought. That, too, pleased him. He’d always liked being one up on her.

  Drawing his feet to him, Morgan rose and dusted himself off. She looked a little frazzled, he noted. It was a good look on her.

  He looked cute with his hair mussed, she mused, then immediately upbraided herself for it. And him for putting the thought into her head in the first place.

  “Nothing broken?” she asked solicitously.

  He was glad the storm that had been threatening hadn’t hit yet. Otherwise, he would have found himself caked in mud. “No.”

  Traci shook her head. “Damn.”

  He had to look to see if she was serious. The Traci he remembered would have been. She was always bent on one-upmanship and getting the better of him. They had that in common, he mused. He would have said she was a she-devil if there hadn’t been moments when a kinder nature had broken through.

  But those moments were few and far between, more of an aberration than anything else. He told himself that he always breathed a little easier when he wasn’t around her.

  Still, Traci had fluttered along the perimeter of his mind all these years like a tune he couldn’t get rid of but couldn’t remember all the words to, either. That was Traci all over. Too annoying, too unsettling, to forget. Ever.

  He realized he was staring at her and cleared his throat, mentally getting his bearings. “So, you want to see the house or not?”

  There was an awkwardness between them, she realized. Beneath the light sparring, there was something she couldn’t quite pinpoint. She wondered if time had done that to them or if there was another cause behind it.

  “I’m here,” she reminded him needlessly.

  His eyes washed over her, taking full measure. Boy, but she had filled out. Her blond hair was still as unruly as ever, giving her a moppet look, but the moppet had a figure that made a man’s mouth water and his hands grow suddenly restless. Like the rest of him.

  “Yes, you certainly are.” He took a deep breath and tried to place the scent that had been driving him crazy since she’d landed on top of him. “Sin?”

  Traci stared at him, uncomprehending. “Excuse me?”

  The surprised look on her face had him wondering if she thought he was propositioning her.

  “The perfume you’re wearing, is it Sin?”

  It took her a minute to put the two pieces of information together. He was looking at her the way she wasn’t accustomed to being looked at, not by him, at any rate.

  “Oh, yes, it is.” She hated this awkward feeling. To counteract it, she was purposely sarcastic. “Good nose. Is that part of your skills as a lawyer?” He was probably going to hear a hell of a lot of lawyer jokes before this visit was over, he thought. “No, Cynthia favored it.”

  “Cynthia?” Traci frowned, rolling the name over her tongue. “Is there a Cynthia?”

  Was there ever, but that, mercifully, was in his past. Every man was entitled to one Cynthia. One damn mistake in judgment. “There was.”

  Traci paused. There was a note of sadness in his voice, and something more. For a second, compassion filled her. And then she remembered. Compassion went out the window.

  “Wasn’t that the girl who used to hang on your arm, simpering all the time?”

  She had hated Cynthia Fairling from the first moment she laid eyes on her. Morgan had brought her out the summer Traci was sixteen. The last summer he was here. Delicate, curvy and chinadoll perfect, Cynthia had had Traci constructing dolls out of rolled tissues and sticking pins into them in her room. She hadn’t realized then that she’d created the voodoo dolls out of jealousy. She did now.

  “She didn’t—” Morgan thought better of his protest. There was no point in denying the truth. “Well, maybe she did at that.”

  Maybe? “She most certainly did.” Traci fluttered her lashes and hooked her arm around his. She almost hung from it as she pushed her chest forward, mimicking Cynthia to a tee. “Oh, Morgie, that’s so clever.”

  Morgan had the good grace to wince at the imitation. “Ouch.”

  Traci sighed and shook her head in disapproval as she released him. “I can’t believe you let anyone call you Morgie.”

  Morgan shrugged. “I was eighteen and she was a knockout.”

  Traci’s frowned deepened. Men were so shallow, it was a wonder they survived as a race at all. “You were an idiot and she was out for your money.”

  He thought back to the way Cynthia had dumped him without warning when he had told her about his father’s finances taking a sharp nosedive because of a series of bad investments. It had been a hell of a rude awakening for him on more than one level. He’d learned what it was like to go out and earn his own money quickly enough. It had ta
ken him five years to get through his undergraduate studies, but the degree had meant more to him in the end.

  And so had losing Cynthia. It was only at the end that he realized how narrow his escape had really been.

  “You had that right.” He laughed shortly. “She really was out for my money. How did you know?”

  Traci rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, she was transparent.”

  Not to him. But he allowed Traci her moment of triumph. “Even to a sixteen year old?”

  Traci let out a short, exasperated breath. “Even to a mushroom.”

  The dried, brown leaves crunched beneath the heels of his new boots as he led the way to the front door. “Doesn’t say much for me, does it?”

  “Nope.”

  For a second, she wanted to rub his nose in it. She could have told him what Cynthia was all about from the start, but he wouldn’t have wanted to listen. He was completely besotted with her. Traci had been angry and hurt when all of his attention had gone to the pretentious little witch. But he’d learned the hard way and, in a way, Traci did feel bad for him.

  After a beat, Traci relented. “I guess all men are a little blind when they’re being played up to.”

  He stopped at the front door, his hand on the knob. She was sounding a little too highhanded for his taste. “And you’re an expert on this?”

  “I see things. I have to,” she added deliberately, adding one more log to the fire that was about to catch.

  Morgan nodded sagely, as if taking every word as gospel. “That would be the tremendous insight you have into life as a cartoonist, I take it.”

  She saw the way he was poking his tongue in his cheek. She could endure a lot, but she didn’t like having her strip ridiculed. “Did you invite me out here to argue with you?”

  She was right. There was just something about having her around that turned him into a competitive adolescent. Something he hadn’t been for quite some time.

  “No, I invited you to take a last look around. Truce?” To back up his words, Morgan put his hand out to her.

  Jeremiah immediately began barking again. The fur on the animal’s back stood up as straight as it could, given the shortness of his coat. Morgan wondered uneasily if the dog was all bark and no bite. He certainly hoped so, but since it was Traci’s dog, he wasn’t placing any bets yet.

  “Truce.”

  Traci placed her hand into his. His handshake was firm, warm. But for some reason, she felt as if, somewhere, a bell was ringing, signaling the beginning of another round.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Jeremiah, quiet!” she ordered. The look she gave the dog was far more effective than her words. The dog lowered his head and looked almost contrite.

  “Impressive.”

  Traci grinned in response. The years melted away and she looked fifteen again, he thought. There was mischief in her eyes.

  He opened the door and she began to follow him inside. Morgan placed a restraining hand on her shoulder. He nodded behind her. “Is he coming in, too?”

  An amused brow arched. Was he afraid of Jeremiah? “Don’t worry, he’s housebroken.”

  “I don’t like the emphasis on the word broken.”

  Her smoky laugh surrounded him.

  “Trust me.” Traci glanced up at the sky. Since she had arrived, the dark clouds had moved in, blotting out the sun and any blue that had been noticeable. “Besides, it might rain any minute. I don’t want him getting wet” Jeremiah smelled absolutely atrocious when he was wet, but she refrained from mentioning that.

  “Maybe he’ll shrink,” Morgan commented.

  She looked at Morgan in surprise. “You’ve gotten a sense of humor. Where did you find it?”

  He graciously put up with her dig and countered. “I always had it. I had to, spending summers out here with you around.”

  She shrugged, finally walking into the house. “You never displayed it before.”

  Any other words faded away as she looked around the large front room. It was dusty and unused, and sad because of it. It was a place meant for laughter and long summer nights shared with friends and family. If she tried hard, she could almost see past summers spent here.

  Waves of yesterday surrounded her as the scent of wood from the woodpile by the fireplace wafted to her. The house smelled dank and musty.

  And wonderful for all that.

  She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed coming here. How much she missed it.

  It was yesterday again. And yet an eternity seemed to separate her from that carefree, mischievous girl she’d been.

  Morgan stood by, silently letting her reacquaint herself with the room. He’d journeyed down his own memory lane earlier. It was odd how sentimental you could get about a place that hadn’t meant anything to you at the time.

  “It hasn’t changed much,” she commented slowly, the words drifting from her lips.

  Even the old television set in the corner was there. With rabbit ears, she thought fondly. Reception had always been miserably poor. It had been her main complaint about vacationing here. Tired of her complaints, her mother had urged her to use her imagination to entertain herself rather than an electronic baby-sitter. Traci had complied by finding new ways to get under Morgan’s skin.

  “Not down here,” Morgan agreed. He began leading the way out of the room, uneasily keeping one eye on the dog. Jeremiah was investigating the multicolored throw rug in front of the fireplace, sniffing so hard he looked as if he were going to absorb the material through his nose. “They redid the bedrooms a few years back. And the attic seems more crammed—”

  Traci looked at Morgan sharply. “The bedrooms? My room? They redecorated my room?”

  The possessive note surprised him, but then it shouldn’t have, he thought. She. was always possessive about things she laid her hands on. They spent an entire summer arguing over who got to use the kayak. She usually won.

  “Technically, it wasn’t your room, it was-”

  “My room, Counselor,” Traci interjected. “It was always my room in the summer.” She was already heading for the stairs, eager to see it. “I don’t care what it was the rest of the time. Can I see it?”

  “Sure. This way.” Hurrying, Morgan got in front of her. Jeremiah, he noted gratefully, had decided to rest on top of the rug he had all but inhaled. He felt along the wall for the light switch. “I had the electricity turned on so I could show the house to its best advantage.”

  Quickening her step, she passed Morgan and reached the stairs first. She laid a hand on the banister, Columbus claiming the new land for the queen. “You don’t have to show me.”

  He raised his hand, making a show of backing off. “Sorry, habit.”

  Foot planted on the first step, Traci turned and looked at him, amused. “You’re a tour guide on the side?”

  “No, I’m used to being polite.” The staircase was steep and narrow. It wasn’t meant to accommodate two. He joined her, anyway, standing stubbornly on the first step. The fit was tight. “Something you probably are unfamiliar with.”

  There it was again, that tingling sensation as if a thousand fireflies were holding a convention along her skin. It came when he was brushed up against her. Traci struggled hard to ignore it. “When it comes to you, yes.”

  He looked down into her face and marveled at the blueness of her eyes. Had they always been that intense? “Does it give you pleasure, bickering with me every chance you get?”

  “Infinite pleasure.” It wasn’t easy, remembering the train of her thought. The tracks were leading toward some very unfamiliar ground. “And this is the first chance I’ve gotten in years, remember?”

  “Yeah.” The word stretched out as the smile took hold of his lips and spread. “Maybe we should have done this more often.”

  She didn’t care for the arrhythmic beating of her heart.

  “You’re the one who went off to college with Cynthia,” she said the name in a singsong tone, “and got too busy to come back to the lake.” That sou
nded too much like an accusation, she thought, but it was too late to take it back. Any protest would have him thinking things that weren’t true.

  With a huff, she pushed past Morgan and walked up the stairs ahead of him.

  “You weren’t far behind,” he countered. “Valedictorian.”

  Surprised, she turned and looked at him again. “I never wrote you that.”

  “Didn’t have to.” He urged her on with a motion of his hand. He was in no hurry to have his systems scrambled again. “My mother made sure I got word.” He didn’t add that, at times, he prodded his mother for information in what he told himself was just idle curiosity.

  “Mothers.” The single word spoke volumes. “They can be a network all their own.”

  “Yeah, they can.” At the landing, he followed her down the hall to her room. It was the last one in a row and the first to get the morning light.

  Morgan allowed her to open the door, seeing as how she thought of the room as her own. “Speaking of which, does she ever take offense?”

  Traci stopped just short of the threshold. “Who?”

  “Your mother.”

  Turning around, she looked at him, perplexed. “Take offense to what?”

  Morgan remembered a recent cartoon that had been less than flattering. “At the way you portray her sometimes in the strip.”

  Traci waved that aside. “That’s not my mother. That’s a composite.”

  That might be what she told others, but he knew better. And he knew her mother, or had. “Is that what you tell her?”

  Traci couldn’t help the grin that slipped out. “Yeah.”

  Morgan nodded solemnly, but his eyes were glinting. “And she buys it?”

  “Pretty much.” Traci grew serious. “Besides, it’s all in fun and the traits are exaggerated.”

  Morgan folded his arms before him as he leaned against the wall, studying her. He could always tell when she was lying. “But it is your life.”